Thursday, September 20, 2007

Why I am a Better Victim's Advocate Than You are a Mother

What did you think when I told youthat he pushed aside my child's size 4 underwearin order to plunge his man's size 9 hand into me?

Were you humming to yourself,distracted by the ingredients tosome cake you were about to bake?

How long did you study on the factsbefore you pushed them to the backof your mind,"I wish I didn't know that."

Did you think I would relent some dayand allow you to talk of him in chipper voiceas my daughter and I sat at your tableeating bowls of ice cream?

And when she had grown to a womanand you did speak of him in pretty tones,did you know she would shake her headand hold me as I cried,apologizing to me as thoughshe were the mommy?

How many miles have you traveled with himin the same car on trips to see relativeswhose own little girls were in danger of hisspecial kind of love?

What in the hell were you thinking?

Did the years you spent letting Daddyrain terror down on our headsinure you to the pain in my gutsas I told you your brother is a child molester?

Because for the life of me,for the very sanity of me,I cannot imagine doing the same.

I want to be your little girl,but you make it difficultto shell peas on your porchor make coffee in your kitchenknowing you may one day go too farand, against my one rule,bring him face to face with me.

I have tummy aches at holidaysknowing you will let slip bits of informationabout himlike other mothers drop hintsabout presents.

So instead of the safety of your armsI seek the voice of those who havetheir own Uncle Mikeor have struggled under a gagas a stranger has laid them barebecause when I listen, it goes like this...

First, I say I am sorry that this has happened.

Then I tell her that she didn't deserve it,no matter what,no matter where,no matter who.

And I smile a little,because it is not funny,but no one deserves to see a frowning facewhen they tell you about their rape.

I hold out my hand sometimesfor the ones who aren't about to jumpout of their skins.Sometimes they take it.

I listen. I murmur soft words to them.

I don't bawl my eyes out,because it is not about me,but I don't try to hide the tearsthat gather in the corners of my eyes.

I tell them the process is slowor fast.That she will heal and be fineor have lingering fear.

I make no promises I am not ready to keep.

I play by her rules.It gives her backthe controlsome bastardsnatched.

When I am the advocate for a victim,she need never wonder if I will waituntil she is distractedto offer her a second helping of paininstead of a tissue.

3 comments:

Oh I am crying here.......this is very special and moving beyond words. It is so powerfully written, so perfectly paced, but beyond the horror it is a glimpse into a very special heart. If only by reading a piece like this one could make 'them' think. I'm sorry for your experiences, truly I am, though I know my words mean nothing.